


Home Again

by Rcw99



Series: Things To Hold On To [7]
Category: Night In The Woods (Video Game)
Genre: Homelessness, Train Tracks, and Highway Overpasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-16 10:17:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11251107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rcw99/pseuds/Rcw99
Summary: Bruce doesn’t want to be a bother to anyone. He certainly wasn’t worth it. Possum Springs was just another place in a long line of towns that didn’t want him. Just another place he had to leave before he ruined something else again.





	Home Again

  


Ahead in the distance, the highway shone like a beacon in the night sky. The streetlights that lined the road glowed a dull, ugly yellow that wasn’t nearly strong enough to block out the stars, but just bright enough to stand out.

Barren trees towered overhead, casting long, thin shadows in the moonlight. Their fallen leaves littered the ground, like a patchwork of ashes. It had been sometime since they had fallen from their trees and for the most part, they had molded and decayed into the very dirt.

A vicious wind whistled through the valley, bringing a deep, biting cold with it. The dry, lifeless tree branches rustled and swayed in the breeze, but the forest itself was silent, save for the occasional chirp of a cricket or a cicada. 

There was a thin line of railroad tracks that cut a path through the woods, scarring the landscape. In years past, it had been a major line that provided life to the area, but now it was lucky to see the occasional train at all. And if one ever did come by, it never stopped anymore.

On those tracks was a lone man, wrapped tight in layers of threadbare clothing that ultimately did little to stave off the cold. Slung over his shoulder was an overstuffed backpack that had obviously seen a lot of use over the years.

He walked along the railroad tracks, his body moving forward almost mechanically. Always forward. Never back.

There was nothing behind him. Nothing for him, at least. Nothing for him to miss and no one to miss him.

That’s what he kept telling himself, repeating it over and over in his mind. There wasn’t anything behind him. He had to believe that if he wanted to keep going forward.

He had been walking for a couple of hours now. It was slow going, especially after his rather lackluster start. When he had decided to leave, he had intended to hop a train and ride out of town, but that didn’t happen. After waiting for over an hour, it became apparent that no train was going to come by anytime soon.

So he walked. He left the town of Possum Springs behind and walked down the tracks.

It was just another place in a long line of towns. 

It was nothing.

It had nothing.

It would only be worse for everyone if he stayed.

That sentiment echoed in his mind with every step he took, driving him ever forward.

Eventually, he came to the highway. It had been his intended destination since it had first come into view amid the inky black darkness that surrounded him. The dull glow of the streetlights had guided him towards it, like a moth to a flame.

There was an overpass that went over the train tracks. Graffiti covered the concrete walls, but it seemed otherwise to be completely abandoned. The steel rails stretched out in front of him, eventually disappearing into the dark beyond the bridge.

It was a good enough place to stop for the night, he figured. It was far enough out of town that he shouldn’t be bothered, and he wasn’t sure what was ahead.

He shuffled off of the tracks and over to one of the side walls. It was far enough away from the rails that, in the event a train came by during the night, he would be okay.

With a soft groan, he set his backpack down against the wall and sat down beside it.

It wasn’t terribly comfortable, especially compared to the tent he had been set up in before, but it wasn’t the worst place he had spent the night. At the very least, it was dry and secluded.

He sat there, under the overpass, and listened to the cars going by above him. 

The highway was alive that night, it seemed—full of people doing whatever they had to do and going wherever they had to go. The stream of cars never seemed to stop, though he doubted any of them would be getting off the exit for Possum Springs.

Like a lot of bridges, this one shook slightly every time someone drove over it. That was hardly noticeable, though. What was worse was the sound that each car made as it drove past. Even though he had spent a little bit of time under bridges, he never really got used to that noise.

After a few minutes, he reached over and unzipped the front pocket of his backpack. There was only one item inside. With some trepidation, he took it out and held it gingerly.

It was a photo, dog-eared and slightly torn from years of carrying it around, but the people in it were still easily identifiable. The photo itself, on the other hand, was just barely visible in what little light from above the bridge that reached underneath.

His own face stared out at him, considerably younger and less mangy than it was today. He had an easy smile on his face, contentment evident in his expression. His arm was wrapped around a younger woman seated next to him, who was beaming at the camera. His daughter. Beside her was her husband, who was wearing a birthday hat and was in the middle of blowing out the candles on the cake in front of him.

He looked at that picture for only a moment before slipping it back into his bag. It was rare that he even looked at it nowadays, having memorized it a long time ago.

And with that, he reckoned that it was time to turn in for the night.

He took a small, patched blanket out of his bag and threw it over his body. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Thankfully, it wasn’t all that cold yet.

Bruce laid his head down on his backpack and stared up at the concrete and steel that made up the support structure of the overpass. 

As the cars incessantly thundered by overhead, his thoughts drifted off into the very thing he had been avoiding since he’d left Possum Springs.

He had told that girl back in town that he was going home to see his family. That they would be waiting for him with signs and posters. That they’d all be happy to see him. His daughter. His son-in-law. His granddaughters.

The lie had come easy.

That was how he was.

That was what he was.

He left with a lie, because what was another at this point? What was another just to make things easier?

That was how it had always been. A whole host of lies, bad decisions, drunken brawls, and shattered relationships.

It had been easy to just leave, without saying goodbye to Pastor Kate. He wouldn’t have been able to bear it otherwise. If she had been there, he wasn’t sure if he would’ve been able to find the strength to go. 

She reminded him so much of his daughter. So much so that it hurt every waking moment he was there. He knew that if she had asked him to stay, he couldn’t have refused her.

She had wanted to help him so much. 

She had fought those guys from the town council with all her heart, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one.

And he was definitely a lost cause.

He knew they’d never let him stay there or give him a place to live. They’d drive him out or arrest him or something equally terrible. That much had been clear when they had brought that officer around to check up on him.

He knew that it would break Kate’s heart if that were to happen. She had tried so hard and put so much faith into helping him, and to see it all ruined would destroy her.

And he couldn’t bear to see that happen.

She was too good.

Too full of hope and love and light.

Just like his own daughter.

He couldn’t bear to hurt Kate like that.

He couldn’t make that same mistake again to yet another person.

It would be better for everyone if he left, he figured. Better for her. Better for him. Better for the community.

So he had done what he did best.

The same thing he had done all those years ago.

He left.

He lied and he left and didn’t look back. He couldn’t look back, because he knew it would kill him if he did so.

He had told that girl that he was going home.

That had been true, at the very least.

This was his home.

This.

This overpass.

The rails.

The road.

The outdoors.

The aimless wandering.

All by himself.

Alone.

Always going forward.

Never stopping.

Never looking back.

There was nothing for him anywhere else or with anyone else.

This was his life.

He was home again.

  



End file.
